


leaving me behind to rank

by smolarmstrong



Category: Green Day
Genre: Fights, M/M, Mental Breakdown, Mental Health Issues, Mental Instability, billie's just fucking mental and sick and its weird
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-24
Updated: 2017-05-24
Packaged: 2018-11-04 10:02:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 552
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10988640
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smolarmstrong/pseuds/smolarmstrong
Summary: Billie is sick and tired and bored and everything in between. His thoughts are convoluted and sound like word salad.





	leaving me behind to rank

**Author's Note:**

> woah ok, i haven't been feeling that good lately (I WANT FUCKING SCHOOL TO BE OVER) so i kinda characterized billie with?? my feelings?? idk it's kinda gross, a lot of talk about blood and gross stuff, so read at your own, i dunno, caution?? i apologize this exists lmao
> 
> this is very bad and very hard to follow and very conveluded but it fits that good aesthetic™ so yeah
> 
> kinda based in the insomniac era but it doesn't really matter, title is from jaded

Billie felt sick 96.5% of the time. Maybe it was some undiagnosed stomach issue, maybe it was because he had crippling anxiety about everything under the sun, maybe it was because he ate next to nothing and had no energy to run around and scream obscenities to a loud and open crowd, clawing and his Converse and sinking him down closer to the floor where he just wants to lay, maybe sleep for 2.5 seconds, maybe sleep for an eternity, either or.

Billie’s fucking spent, he's tired and sleep deprived and probably shaving off tens of years off of his lifetime. His joints crack and ache like an old man’s should, not a fucking twenty-something-shithead-with-a-loud-band-and-alllllll-that-amazing-shitty-band-privilege. He’s cramped every where he goes, even with his small form. It's like his cramped within himself, a huge-gigantic-mythical giant trapped and forced to walk around in a prepubesent twelve-year-old’s body.

Billie wants to be quiet, he wants to sit in the background - he never fucking asked to be the singer of this band, he never wanted to be a front man - all he wanted to do was play guitar and make people’s ears bleed. But Mike has worse anxiety than Billie - averaging at about two-to-three panic attacks a-fucking-day - and Tré can’t have a cohesive thought leave his brain - everything’s so jumbled and shook and constantly moving that he can't give a clear answer. So Billie has to suck it up and be a voice that he doesn't want to be, doesn't even need to be, he needs to talk to stupid interviewers who look like they just hopped off the latest cover of Tiger Beat and who ask stupid questions about his wardrobe instead of about his music.

Billie is sick and tired and quiet but not quiet at the same time and it fucks with his head, turns him around and flings him off the side of a roller coaster going 348 miles per hour. He feels like his head is smashed on the pavement, brain matter oozing out, all grey and decaying and bored. He gets into fights at the bars they play at to just feel something - feel his nose break beneath another person’s fist, feel his already fucked up teeth push farther backwards and more broken, more jaded.

Billie wants everyone in the band to fucking punch him in the face, wake him the fuck up. He wants Mike to purple his cheeks and then kiss him, hard, taste the copper tinge seeping out of his cut lip. He wants Tré to break his jaw, snap it in half, then fuck him hard and gross and rough, hurt him even more, do something to him, anything to him.

Billie wants to wake the fuck up to a happy life, a life where the trio is living in a nice house - not too big, but not to small - all living together, loving each other like no tomorrow - all loving, chaste kisses and calm sex. Billie thinks Mike would be soft and caring, soothing even. Billie thinks Tré would be rough, but a roughness powered by full passion. They would be kissing and fucking and making music and Billie would finally be able to sleep, to eat well, to get his stomach pain checked out.

Billie needs to wake the fuck up.


End file.
